This morning, just as I was putting the toothpaste on the brush, there was a rumbling, accompanied with a high-pitched squeal, that shook the house. The cats started scurrying and the dog started howling. Wondering what it was, my first thought was the road commission, out mowing the clover at the edge of the road with some new-fangled machine. One of those machines that was like a ninja in that it could do more than just mow, but at the same time made it so large, heavy, and expensive that only a few were in use.
Following the sound, which strangely minimized to a low hum as I opened the front door, it was no ninja mower I saw, but a cigar-shaped spaceship, 100 ft L x 50 ft H, hovering just above the earth. Paralyzed with fear, I stood there, jaw slack, as an 8 x 10 ft oblong of the matte silver side of the craft silently slid open. A platform extended, perpendicular to the ship. A long shadow fell across the platform as a nine-foot tall Predator stepped out. It pushed a button on the front panel of its suit and said, in English, “Let the hunt begin.” A puddle grew at my feet as I stood, paralyzed prey.